More Often Than Not
by modestlobster
Summary: What if Sybill Trelawney actually made quite a number of accurate prophecies... but no one was paying attention? CH 1: Oliver Wood recounts an incident to McGonagall... which, had he realised, might have saved him some troubles with a certain Chaser...


"Aye, but _Professor_ –"

"I don't want to hear it, _Mister Wood!_"

"But y' should have heard her, ranting and raving at me like a woolly, mad th–"

"Sybill – Trelawney – is – not – _crazy_!"

Despite the emphasis Minerva McGonagall placed on her final word, she wasn't entirely sure whom she was trying to convince most: herself, or the burly Scottish 6th year in her office. Things were far from congenial between her and the decidedly dotty Divination professor, but Minerva knew it wasn't her place to side with the students on any such matters, whether or not she personally agreed with them. Professionally, each faculty member was to be judged sane and competent as could be, until proven otherwise by an externally-led Ministry of Magic investigation and subsequent court proceedings, or else indicated by a direct dismissal from the headmaster, Dumbledore, himself… Godric, how she had appealed to Albus. Time and time again.

But there were no grounds for it, really.

Sadly.

Oliver Wood looked as though his eyes might burst out of his head if he didn't say what he had come to Professor McGonagall's office to say, which would hardly be conducive to Gryffindor winning the next Quidditch match if their Captain was languishing in the hospital wing for the treatment of over-extended optic nerves, so Minerva offered him a shortbread from a plaid-coloured tin, and curtly gestured to a vacant chair opposite her desk.

"Alright. Out with it, Wood." Her words were accompanied by a steely glare. "But I warn you, if I hear any more disrespectful language from you – about anyone – then I will ask Professor Flitwick for a number at random and I will deduct that amount of House Points from Gryffindor directly. And Filius has a particular fondness for three-digit numbers."

"Err, well…" The boy swallowed a lump of nervousness before continuing. "I went to the Divination classroom to ask a wee question, but when I got there, the Professor was a bit, ehm, slumped over onto her desk. So, I cleared my throat at first. And nothing happened. So I tapped her – quite lightly – on the shoulder and, ehm, she sort of bolted upright and that's when she started shrieking at me."

McGonagall's eyes narrowed behind her square-rimmed spectacles.

"It does not exactly surprise me that she was startled."

"Well, ehm, it was just that she was a bit, err, rude, as it were…"

Her eyebrows arched into a perfectly aligned expression of skepticism.

"While I do not wish to discount the merits of your story before I have heard the whole of it, Mister Wood, I am afraid I have not known Professor Trelawney to ever use coarse language. Much less in front of a student."

"I admit it was all a bit funny – odd, I mean… Not usual." The stout sixth year shrugged. "It was only a wee tap on the shoulder and, all the same, she goes off on me about hellfire and brimstone…"

McGonagall's look softened ever so slightly into one of general surprise.

"Aye." He concurred, trying to recall the curious circumstance exactly. "Err, basically, it was all _'Gates of Hell! Gates of Hell!_ _I'll see you at the Gates of Hell!'_ and so forth. And, ehm, I thought it best to take my leave at that time, and maybe tell someone… Tell you."

"Well, I thank you, Mister Wood. I will inform the headmaster of the incident, but I think we shall put it down that you gave a sleeping woman a good fright and she forgot herself. Next time perhaps you will see to it that you make an appointment with her first, or send an owl ahead to announce yourself."

"Err, yes, Professor." He said, and Minerva shooed him out of her office.

But by the end of the day the situation had already slipped Minerva's mind – and even if it had not, she probably would not have bothered Dumbledore with it after all. She had seen and heard Sybill do arguably much worse and much stranger things.

Oliver Wood quite promptly forgot all about it as well, until several years later, when he woke up in a cold sweat in the middle of the night, Sybill Trelawney's words ringing in his ears. It was the Puddlemere United Keeper's last sleep before his wedding day; his best man would calm him down, ultimately dismissing the whole matter as merely a customary bout of nerves.

But the fact still remained that Oliver had not quite heard the batty old professor correctly all those years ago, startled as he was and trying to escape from the Divination classroom all in one piece. He had assumed the worst. But perhaps it had been a blessing and not a curse.

Perhaps, if the Prophecy Records at the Department of Mysteries had remained intact to this day, it might have been verified what the Seer Sybill Patricia Trelawney had actually foretold to the boy.

_Kates of Bell. _She had said. _I see you standing by the Kates of Bell._


End file.
